A man doesn’t plant a tree for himself. He plants it for posterity—Alexander Smith. Earlier today, Glad Tidings church in Moncton, New Brunswick, dedicated a green space on its property to the memory of three fallen RCMP officers killed in the line of duty June 4, 2014. They were killed by a lone gunman in the city’s north end, where the church is situated.

Come on, admit it. Are you addicted to technology? Do your hands start shaking if you’re torn away from your handheld device for more than a few hours?
For an introvert like me, social media has fit my personality like a glove. I’m verbal and bold online in ways I would never be in person—and I get to practice my quips and one-liners.

a) for the prolonged warm fall weather, b) for the pleasant (if breathy) chats with friends during a Monday evening run, and c) for youthful running leaders who run slowly on purpose and pretend they are not plodding along for my sake. God bless their skinny hearts.

What an ironic quote of the day from The Bard. I only ran three days last week because I was juggling two book launches for my first young adult novel, Rachel’s Manifesto. And I’m available for more dates–a great excuse not to run!

My quads have recovered from last week’s travelling lunges…I’ve been doing them all week trying to loosen up my thighs. They were pretty tight for the first few days. Through the miserable weather I’ve been using my treadmill.

Yes, I think I am. Last night I joined the first session of an eight week running club with friends and acquaintances from my church. I have been jogging for a long time, but I’ve never run with a group, let alone compete in a race.

I wish I were a better gardener, because there is nothing in the world like the satisfaction of harvesting food that has been planted and grown in one’s own backyard—to see the magical transformation from bud to flower to fruit.

A funny thing happened while I was writing today’s main blog about Randy Pearlstein’s Writing for Comedy workshop. I was in the public library, intending to write over my lunch hour and headed for my favourite spot by the large windows in the reference section upstairs.

How do you cure children of faking sick? You make them stay in bed, that’s how. Both my husband and I had to get to work this morning and since our seven-year-old son informed us he was “kind of sick,” my husband agreed to stay home for the morning, and I would trade places with him in the afternoon.

There is something spiritual about grapes and grapevines. Maybe it’s because of all those biblical references with which I am so familiar. Nevertheless, I always associate grapes with fruitfulness in life.

The Professional Writers Association of Canada’s Moncton Chapter invites everyone to its 2nd annual Reveille, an event where members of the audience and special guests, including local celebrities and Frye Festival authors, share “works” from their youth.

Picture this: a business networking event where plenty of entrepreneurs are wandering around with wine, cheese, business cards and a nametag. It’s a small city…lots of people already know each other, and lots of people wish to be known.

We can hardly blame the mainstream media for no longer hosting public debate about whether climate change is actually happening: nobody wants to appear as though they’re supporting foolish conspiracy theories. Dissenters have been relegated to the journalistic ignominy of the internet, which is why the Internet is so juicy.

Isn’t it ironic that the people wearing the end-of-the-world sandwich boards used to be considered the wild-eyed fringe? Now, they’re the reasonable ones and the crazies are the ones saying, “hold on, it’s not that dire. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I had no idea he was doing it. After completing my kitchen chores this evening, I came upstairs to find my husband unloading the contents of his closet. “If you’re going to blog about it,” he said, “at least say I was awesome enough to start by myself.”

I must speak with my 11-year-old daughter Sophie regarding her methods for packing school lunches. (My husband and I thought mornings were moving along much more smoothly this fall since our two eldest children started packing their own lunches on previous evenings.)

After much virtual switcheroo , we have decided on a new floor plan, and it hinges on two things: 1) an extreme closet purge and new closet organizers with drawers, eliminating the need for a large dresser in the room, and 2) a new, wider office desk with built in heavy-duty shelving above, eliminating the need for the large bookshelf in the room and the glass desk we currently are using.

I want a bedroom flexible enough to serve three functions: it needs to be bright and friendly, conducive for creative work and homework during the day, relaxing and restful for sleep at night, and an alternate television spot for the kids when they jockey for entertainment space in the house.

It’s possible that the process will be anything but blissful, but I’m hoping the end result will be.

My chosen organizational guru, “The Organizing Connection,” (OC) offers a six-step program to help procrastinating saps like me reach my clutter-free bedroom goals. My plan is to take a week or two for each step.

I love a good argument, and therefore I think it’s time I tried my hand at book reviews. Tonight, I’m going to read my latest purchase, “Nothing created Everything,” by Ray Comfort and later, I’ll tell you what I think.

On Saturday, I visited the Marine Museum of the Atlantic in Halifax, Nova Scotia this weekend, with my husband. We were on a getaway weekend celebrating our 18th wedding anniversary (which is actually today.) I was hoping to find some information there for my next novel, but instead found myself weeping among the photographs and artifacts in the second-floor Titanic display. I got a few curious looks from the American bus tourists, but I tried to pretend there was something in my eye.